Remembering
by Pheonixsong07
Summary: A visit to the graves of friends long gone helps the two survivors to cope. HHr friendship


Disclaimer: Nope don't own it.

The quiet graveyard sat on the edge of a small town. Most walked by it without a glance. Some appeared to not have even seen it.

The stillness and silence of the place was disturbed when a loud 'POP' resonated through the grave sights and off the head stones. There, at the gate, appeared a man. He was dressed darkly in long robes of black with a cloak draped over his shoulders aimlessly.

The man hesitated, his arm half-way towards the gate handle, before he finally grasped it. The gate creaked as it swung open. He stepped through allowing gate to hit its mate with a clatter.

If one were to look at the man, they would see the evidence of the many battles he has faced. The scars of which are not only the visible, but some scars are so deep they punctured his soul forever living there, marking him. There was an air to this man, one that said he had been through so much in life that he should not be strong enough to be here, starring down at the graves of his loved ones. Yet, here he stood.

The man ran a hand through the mass of untamable raven hair, uncovering his first and deepest scar. This scar was set on his forehead over his right eye. It was in the form of a zigzagging lightning bolt which now stretched much further down his face than it had originally, running till it touched the tip of his nose. At the point of skin were the cheek met the nose, it crosses another scar, this one fallowing the man's cheek bone almost to his right ear, or what was left of it.

The man knelt before a stone under the shadow of a birch tree. Stretching out a hand, he exposed the pink scar tissue that covered most of his right arm. With one finger, he traced the engravements in the stone.

_Ginerva Molly Weasley _was etched there plainly to see along with her date of birth and that of her death.

Most in this graveyard had the same date of death upon their tombs. Ron, Fred, Molly, Luna, Bill, Fleur, Mad-eye, Lupin, Hagrid, and Ginny, all buried in this cemetery, all with the same death day.

Others were buried from before that fateful day. Shalkebolt, Charlie, Tonks, Flitwick, and many more to whom the man did not wish to delve.

When he arose from her grave, he saw her sitting there by her late fiancé's grave, weeping for him.

The man did not announce himself nor did he wish to be spoken to just yet. He was sure however that she'd seen him from the moment he entered the place, before even.

He continued to walk the aisle glancing down at names as he went.

He nodded to his best friend's grave but did not duel.

He passed Arthur and Molly's grave. Arthur had died not but a week after his wife. They said from heart failure, which was partially true. The man had died from grief and a broken heart.

Shaking the memories away, he ran across Lupin's grave. Poor stupid Lupin, so aggrieved from losing Tonks, had been driven him mad. He had tried to fave Voldemord for him. He had died with one flick of the demon's wand. Hagrid had fallen the same way. Mad-eye as well.

He decided now was the right time to face her.

She muttered his name as he knelt down beside her, wincing at the pain emanating from his knee.

"Hello Harry," she said her eyes closed in an attempt to hold in the tears.

"Hermione." He put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled and gripped it tightly.

"I miss him. Harry," she said softly, "I miss all of them." She waved a hand at the rows of graves surrounding them.

"I know, so do I," he remarked closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply trying to regain control over his emotions. "How's Lily?" he asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

"She's alright," she told him, "She told me she remembers him."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "She remembers Fred?"

Hermione nodded, tears now bursting from the edges of her eyes.

"She was so little when he died. I was afraid she'd have no memory of her father at all," she chocked out the words.

"Shhh!" Harry took his friend into his arms remembering the last time he did this. It was in the hospital wing after the battle. Those who remained gathered at his bed side.

She had broken down in his arms just like this.

"It hurts to live, Harry," she cried into his robes, "Why did they die and we survive?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he said into her bushy hair. He was afraid. He was afraid because she, for once, did not have the answers he wanted.

"Come on," he said helping her to her feet. "Let's get out of here, eh?"

He felt her nod into his chest. Placing a hand under her chin, he lifted her lips to his. He kissed her delicately, lovingly.

It was not a passionate kiss, one to invoke anything but comfort and love of a friend in her.

They were all that was left.

Even of the survivors, they were the last. George had taken his own life after he couldn't go on without his family. Neville had disappeared. No one was sure what happened to him. Minerva had been assassinated after her election as Mistress of Magic. Even Draco, who had joined their side after his failure to kill Dumbledore, had drunk himself to death.

They were alone except for one another.

They were all that was left of the Weasleys even though neither an official Weasley.

They would survive together along with Hermione and Fred's daughter, the truly last surviving Weasley.

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